


One Night

by Calliope_99



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, One Night Stands, Sexual Tension, Starfleet being Starfleet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliope_99/pseuds/Calliope_99
Summary: You're Dr. Clia Sohl, something of a jack-of-all-trades employee for the Federation. Trained in historical and data methods, you've been working for the past several years as a liaison with Star Fleet, whether that be helping them to train cadets or change the voice systems of the interactive computer systems.However, your life gets turned upside down when news comes down of a long-term assignment on the Starship Enterprise. You're no adventurer, and certainly no officer, so head off for a night of reckless abandon before shipping off. Only problem is it turns out your chosen partner for said night of abandon is the Enterprise's Chief Medical Officer. Awkwardness will no doubt ensue.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Original Female Character(s), Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Reader, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically the first actual fanfic I have ever written and put on the Internet. It is probably quite rough and awkwardly written but I love Bones and have had this idea in my head for ages and wanted to write it down and get it out there because there's not enough TOS Bones stuff on this website!!
> 
> Definitely have plans to continue this past this chapter (as you will probably be able to tell) and I'll write/upload them when I get the chance!

Your name is Clia Sohl, and you’re having a bad week. You’ve found yourself in a place you wouldn’t usually be caught dead in – a shitty dive bar in the small Federation mining settlement on Relva VII. You clink the ice around in your glass and look up the bartender you’ve been mumbling at for the last few hours.

“I told them just like I’ve told you, I’m not cut out for a starship, and certainly not for _that_ starship. But do they listen? No, of course not, of course they don’t,” you got out, slurring less from the alcohol and more from the self-pity hangover you’ve been working on for the last few days, ever since your life had been upended by Starfleet.

While you are nominally employed by one of the many agencies of the Federation you have more often found yourself contracted out to work for Starfleet as a librarian, an archivist, a historian, etc., to take on whatever academic project they decide to assign you. Starfleet doesn’t technically employ non-officer or non-enlisted personnel, but it does recognize the value of outside perspectives, so they put you and your skillset as an archivist and historian to work on a variety of academic projects over your career.

Not that working for Starfleet was any skin off your nose – you’d never been interested in becoming a Starfleet officer yourself, but up until this point working as a Federation liaison with them has been an ideal job. It allowed you to see the galaxy while doing fulfilling work and for the last year now you’ve been on Relva VII, working on a data overhaul alongside Starfleet personnel and giving lessons on analytical writing and statistics to the aspiring Starfleet cadets.

You deserved this night of irresponsibility, you told yourself, you were enjoying your last dregs of normality before being shunted off to do thankless work on a starship for god knows how long. With your last day and a half of freedom you took a backpack and caught the shuttle from the Starfleet settlement to the distant Federation colony. You spent some time wandering around the parks before going where you know you’d intended to head - this bar with its motel up top. Here was where you would spend your time drinking, watching some confusing sport on the holoscreens, and sleeping in a real genuine queen-sized bed before heading off to whatever twin sized bunk awaited you on the _Enterprise_.

In your time on Relva VII you’d made good friends with most of the officers who ran the place, though you’d never quite gotten over seeing them as just a bit too stiff for their own good. And of course, you know that more than a couple of them probably saw you as a too-soft civvy just taking up space. But that aside, life was generally good, and you took a lot of pleasure from your work. But naturally, that could never last.

A week ago, news came down that the _Enterprise_ was coming to Relva VII for a re-supply, some repairs, and shore leave for the crew. You had all winced at this – the _Enterprise_ was about a year and a half into its five-year mission and was already renowned for getting into insane situations and danger. From psychic hermit aliens to time travel portals, you had read all the same redacted public reports and heard the same rumors as everyone else. An ensign in the meeting room cracked a joke about being excited to see Starfleet’s flying death trap with his own eyes and you couldn’t help but chuckle along until a look from the Commander shut you down.

“Dr. Sohl,” she began, cutting off the laughter that had rippled through the room, “Starfleet has requested that you become a mission specialist aboard the _Enterprise_. The details should be coming to your PADD later today, but from what I gather Command has decided the ship needs a full-time computer archives expert on board. Also, something about an oral history project.”

Your face morphed into a stricken expression and your Commander shrugged but gave you an apologetic look.

As you were mulling over the last few days and the work that awaited you, Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy slipped into this bar and glanced around. At this point in the week the bar held a handful of miners from the Federation colony relaxing around the tables and booths, many laughing and watching the sports and news playing on the small holoscreens. Standard stuff. He was one of a handful of _Enterprise_ crew who decided to take their short shore leave at the Federation colony, most opting for a nature reserve or the nicer digs at the Starfleet base. But that suited him just fine. He wanted one thing for the night – some peace and quiet away from the constant chaos aboard the ship.

McCoy decided to settle down at the bar, placing his order with the bartender and shuffling into a seat a few down from a slightly slumped over young women.

You perked up at hearing someone else come to the bar and looked over to see a man, a bit older than you, but handsome in a kind of way. He wasn’t dressed any different than you or anyone else in the settlement – denim pants, solid-looking shoes, a light jacket, a cute checked ascot and silky shirt – but his accent as he spoke to the bartender was way off. And the longer your slightly-addled brain had you staring at him trying to parse this man, McCoy realized that the slumped over woman had been looking somewhat intensely at him for what was approaching an uncomfortably long time.

He took his drink from the bartender and chuckled a bit looking into it, “I haven’t got something on my face, have I?”

That jolted you out of your reverie, and your cheeks warmed slightly as you realized you’d been staring at this total stranger for far too long now. You stammered a bit and sat up straighter and looked at the table, “Ah, sorry, no, I uh – I was just trying to place your accent, actually.” A pause, “You just sounded really Earth-born is all.”

“Well then, you have a perceptive ear. I was born in the old states, Mississippi actually, if you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, yes,” you perked up at this, history of the former United States had been a hobby area of yours and many of the potential cadets you taught were from Earth, “I know of it. I’m from Alpha III, but I’ve spent a lot of time on Earth, know a lot of people from there as well, it’s just you don’t get it a lot here.” You gestured with your arms at the bar and this small Federation settlement.

McCoy chuckled again, low and gravely, the sound almost made you physically lean closer, but of course you caught yourself before embarrassing yourself a second time in the span of three minutes.

“Well,” he said, standing up from his chair and moving a few feet down to sit in the one next to you, “that would make sense, I don’t live around here, just passing through, so it’s nice to meet you.” He stuck his hand out towards you on the bar tabletop, “The name’s Leonard.”

You smiled and took his hand, enjoying the warm firmness of his grip and beating down thoughts of just how long it had been since – “Clia, nice to meet you. And, I don’t really know this town either, honestly.”

“What brings you here then, a love of low grav. soccer?”

You laughed, possibly for the first time in days, “Ha, no, just a night to get away from it all. Just to get some calm, you know?”

“Oh, _believe me_ , I know,” he said, reaching his arms up to stretch and sigh, as if suddenly remembering all the paper work and crew with strange new shore leave coughs and sniffles that would be waiting for him.

You two sat there for a bit longer, making small talk about the settlement, its people, your drinks of choice, and the sports on the screen which neither of you understood. Neither of you ever asked much more about the other’s background – you assumed from him look and gruff demeanor that he was one of those independent freight haulers or traders, stopping over at Relva VII before heading out into deep space, maybe even outside of Federation territory.

For his part, McCoy eventually arrived at the assumption that you were some type of Federation personnel – they often sent safety inspectors to check on the health of colonies and their people. You certainly knew enough about Relva III without actually living there to be an inspector. He knew that could be a lonely job as well, never staying put long enough to put down roots or make any real friends.

At a lull in the conversation, you shifted a bit in your seat and watched Leonard stretch his lean frame. You ran your eyes along his wiry arms and settled back on his hands, remembering how steady and warm they’d felt. You realized you were certainly not thinking straight now and considered biting back the proposal on the tip of your tongue, but the thought of god-knows-how-long spent on a sterile spaceship full of Starfleet snobs stretching out in front of you made you feel reckless.

As the bartender stepped to the other side of the bar to speak to another customer, you cleared your throat and tried to smile as Leonard resettled his blue eyes on you, “So, it’s, uh, getting quite late and I’m actually planning on staying here for the night and,”

McCoy nodded when you trailed off slightly and said, “Ah damn, I’ve kept you up too late, haven’t I? I’m sorry, dear, I tend to ramble when I find a willing partner. But I should let you get off to bed now.”

You kicked yourself mentally - it was so much easier to be smooth in your imagination - “No, well that’s just the thing,” you tentatively reached a hand up on the table to settle over one of his, “I wanted to ask if you might like to join me?”

McCoy took a few seconds to process the proposition; it hadn’t even crossed his mind that that’s what this pretty young woman had been working herself up to springing on him. But it only took a few seconds and he brought his hands to yours and gave it a small squeeze.

“I think I’d like that very much,” he lifted your hand to his lips and ghosted a kiss over your knuckles, smirking a bit at the pink tinge that rose to your cheeks, “lead the way.”


End file.
